


Battle Drill

by syredronning



Series: Doctor series [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes McCoy feels as if Star Fleet is the wrong place for him. Maybe sometimes it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Drill

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: questionable educational means.  
> Author's Note: Thanks to Ayalesca for her advice and corrections. All left-over bugs are mine.

On some days, McCoy questioned his sanity when signing up for Star Fleet more than on other days. And sitting here in a barely lit, muddy cave with wounded, screaming people around him was one of those days. From above, the noise of incoming missiles could be heard, each detonation making the ground shake beneath his feet. This was the medical personnel's special battle drill, and it bore little resemblance to sitting on a shiny bridge and pressing some buttons, like in Jim's stories. This was gritty and brutal, with real blood on the floor and the smell of death in the air.

Three more wounded were carried in, making it a total of seven under his care, and he quickly assessed their status. One was fatal; there was no way he could save someone with half the head shot off. One was a minor leg wound, which the nurse could fix on her own. The last, abdominal gunshot wound in her thirties, he would tackle himself. He directed the stretcher into the make-shift surgery area, wiping the sweat off his face with the sleeve of the red-stained medical frock before letting the other nurse prepare the pre-op disinfection.

"They're coming," the wounded woman whimpered, eyes wide open and fixed at him. Her hands moved shakily, as if wanting to grab him, conveying the panic she felt.

"We've got security personnel, they won't get down to us," McCoy said soothingly.

"They'll break through," she whispered and indeed, besides the missile sounds from the outside, the sizzling sound of projectile rifles drew closer to the cave. He took a deep breath. "Everything will be fine," he repeated and pushed the hypo with the tranquillizer to the right side of her neck. She sank back, eyes closing. From the entry of the cave, shouts could be heard.

"Doctor -" the nurse said and he turned to her, his face drawing into a deep frown as he saw her offering a phaser instead of a scalpel.

"I'm a doctor, not a shooter," he snapped. "Let's get on with the op."

"Doctor, the regulations -"

"I won't." This wasn't McCoy's first medical battle drill, and so far his style had succeeded -don't shoot the enemy and it won't shoot you, and that would work on this species too. He'd read the briefing notes; they were developed enough to accept surrender - they had done so in other conflicts.

Though most importantly, he hated phasers and rifles with an intensity which he knew others thought obsessive. Maybe you had to see someone dying because of you until you learned that each life is unique and once it's gone, it's gone forever.

_He had just turned seven and they'd been playing in the shed of Toby's grandfather, his best friend Toby and him. Actually, they weren't allowed there but it was old and large and full of strange antiques. Over the summer they had gone through most of the cabinets, but one was locked and even Toby hadn't wanted to lock-pick it. But on this day, when they had met, there had been a small, rusty key in Toby's hand and a big grin on his face. When they had opened the locked cabinet, it had revealed a treasure beyond belief - a pair of antique hand guns._

"Are you ready?" McCoy stated with a sharp look at his nurse. Beneath his fingers, there was a dying woman and he'd do anything to keep her alive, even if it might cost his own life.

The nurse nodded wordlessly, her eyes full of disapproval but he didn't care as long as she did her job.

_They had taken them out; two pairs of grubby children hands carefully lifting the still shining weapons out of their velvet cushions. The gun had felt incredibly cold and heavy in his fingers, and he had been fascinated, admiring its decorative carvings. "Bang, bang," Toby had said and pointed at the ruffled, stuffed deer head. "I feel like a real cowboy with that!" Of course, there weren't any cowboys left in their time besides some fake costume holders in the tourist corners, but with the gun in his hand, Leonard McCoy had almost forgotten all about that. He had lifted the revolver with all his strength, trying to focus on the other deer head which he had always disliked, for its somehow grim, accusing expression in the dead animal's eyes. "Bang, bang," he had said and pulled the trigger, instantly thrown to the ground by the blowback._

He took a deep breath and started operating, only barely aware of the fights that seemed to carry on into the cave's entry by now. If the security went down, they wouldn't have a chance anyway. It wasn't their job to out-shoot anyone with that little bit of targeting practice they had.

From the corner of his eyes he saw that his first nurse surrendered to the incoming enemy, bipeds with masks and armor. Good. She was following his orders to the letter. Soon the shooting would end. No more dying. No more blood…

_He had overheard them from the kitchen, where they had seated him, a glass of apple juice and a piece of cake, as if this could make anything undone, as if this could make the red go from his fingers, the red where they had scrubbed his skin to remove the stains. He had worn fresh clothes - Toby's clothes, too large for him - and his wet hair cooled in the autumn breeze, making him shiver. "He couldn't have reached them on his own… it had to have been Toby's idea, only he had known about the key… what a tragic accident… if they had made it to a doctor in time, Toby would've survived." He had known better. It had been all his fault. He made a vow never to touch a weapon again in his whole life. And to become a doctor like his dad. Then he could save everyone…or at least everyone he cared for._

He was at the last stitch when the enemy approached, two tall masked men with their rifles in fire position. He turned to face them, raising his hands in surrender. Something was strange, a part of him registered; in the notes, the species had been described as being much shorter. But before he could even open his mouth, the man in front of him completely unexpectedly pushed the rifle into his stomach. McCoy keeled over in agony - _ wasn't this supposed to be just a drill exercise? _ \- only to be surprised with a backslap of the rifle's handle into his face. He sagged to his knees, seeing stars. The scream of the nurse next to him seemed far away as they took him under his arms and pulled him into the middle of the cave, his knees chafing over the stones that lay half-buried in the mud. There they dumped him onto the ground where he curled, fighting for air.

"Get up," someone ordered him, and as he didn't comply right away, strong arms grabbed his uniform and yanked him to his knees. "Hands behind your head," he was ordered, and this time he did as asked. His arms were shaking, his stomach was hurting like mad and on his face, he could feel the trickle of blood. Next to him were the two nurses, subdued but obviously unhurt. "What the hell -" he started angrily, which earned him another blow of the rifle that turned his world black for a second. Something cracked, though he wasn't sure if it was physical or just inside of him.

"Get him up again", the leader ordered, and he was back on his knees, hands folded behind his hurting head. Something was very wrong here. This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all.

"What do you want?" he whispered. "We surrendered. There ain't nobody going to get hurt any further."

"Of course not. We will eliminate the threat that is you for once and all."

The leader snapped his finger, and the man that stood behind the first nurse, stepped forward, pushed a rifle against her head and shot. She sagged to the side, a lifeless form. A second shot hit the other nurse, who sank over her colleague.

"No," McCoy said shakily. "No!" But the enemy didn't care for him as the men went on executing the patients, one by one, no matter their pleas and cries.

Something cracked again in McCoy, and with a move Jim would've been proud of he rolled to the side, towards the hidden extra phaser that was part of the medical equipment - and which McCoy had detested ever before as endangering the neutrality of medical personnel. His hand was almost on the handle when the bag was kicked away, his fingernails tearing only into the muddy ground. A boot stepped on his shoulders, pressing his face into the dirt. Then there was the rifle's point at his temple.

"Goodbye, Federation bastard," someone said, and it clicked.

And then - nothing.

The weapon was withdrawn, the boot removed. Voices filled the air, whispering, cautious. Like awakening from a nightmare, McCoy went up on his elbows and turned around, watching the dead being resurrected. There was mud in his mouth and he spit it out, coughing and wheezing for a moment.

"May I help you?" someone asked, and McCoy looked up at the Surgeon General.

"What the hell…" McCoy rasped, shaking off the man's helping hand. He tumbled to his feet, leaning back on one of the stretchers. At the cave entry, the just executed victims of war removed their décor and chatted and laughed, alive and relaxed now that the drill was over.

"Why?" McCoy asked at last, eyes back on the general he'd only seen once so far.

"Because you needed to learn an important lesson," the general said.

"Dying?" McCoy blurted out.

"Fighting," the general said calmly. "It's a fine attitude for a doctor not to bring harm upon others, but sometimes this goal can only be met by defending yourself with weapons."

"And you think this little...theater taught me a lesson?" McCoy wiped his chin with one balled fist - one he'd rather plant right into this bastard's face.

"You're one of our best doctors, McCoy. You're CMO material. You don't mind speaking your mind to your commanding officers, and you bring experience and ingenuity into your medical decision. But for all that Star Fleer is or isn't - it's not the right place for pacifists. There will be times when you've got to protect yourself and the people under your command first, and think of others later. If you can't do that… this is the wrong place for you." The general laid his hand on McCoy's shoulder, warm and gentle. "I know we're asking something big from you. And I know that this wasn't the kindest way to bring across the point. But I honestly didn't see another way."

"So this was your plan? You took an interest in me - a mere second-year cadet?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"Well, once in a while when someone especially promising turns up, I'll do that." The general twinkled, then turned serious again. "I don't ask for a decision today - but I hope you will stay with us." He offered his hand and, after a moment of hesitation, McCoy took it, shaking it mutely.

The general turned and walked away, his clean, gray admiralty's uniform strangely unfitting to the silent chaos the drill had left. McCoy curled his arm around his stomach. He wanted to hate them all, but he couldn't bring up that much energy now. Maybe also because he knew they were right and he couldn't allow a single moment in his childhood define how he should react all of his life. But that wasn't a decision he'd make today. For today, he'd had enough of it all.

Tearing the medical frock away, he staggered out into the nightly desert where the last shuttle back to the academy was waiting for him.


End file.
